The Law of Second Chances

41

Henry wasn’t the only one looking after Jack. Charlie had been down to visit a few times since Pat’s death. She was a little more direct with Jack, especially on her last visit, which was just a few days after Jack’s performance at the San Juan Capistrano Hotel. Jack was driving her back to the airport when the conversation started.

“Jack, you have to snap out of this funk you’re in.”

“I know what you’re saying. I just feel so lost and so sad. You were close to Pat. How do you deal with the loss?”

“This may sound strange to you, Jack, but I feel that she’s still with me. I talk to her all the time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, she doesn’t talk back to me or anything like that. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy. I just feel her presence. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

“I wish I felt it.”

“You will. Have you been to your special place since you spread her ashes there?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you go? See if it helps you.”

“Maybe I will,” he replied.

The next morning, Jack put on a T-shirt and his jogging shorts and went out for a run. It was his first time out since Pat’s death. He headed along the river trail that he and Pat had often taken. It was still dark, and the moon was full in the east. The cool October air gave him a little chill at first. But he soon warmed to his task. He felt remarkably good, although his pace was slow. It was rush hour on the river as the fishing boats headed out to the big lake. After only a few minutes, Jack took a deep breath and exhaled. I’ve missed this, he thought.

He remembered his first visit to Bass Creek on a fishing trip. He had instantly fallen in love with this podunk little town in the middle of nowhere. It was the combination of the river and the slow pace of life and the untouched beauty of the surrounding countryside. He had resolved that very day to retire in Bass Creek. Pat had loved it too. When she came there to live, all the planets seemed to have aligned. It just didn’t last very long.

Three miles later he was back at the house, where he kicked off his sneakers, took off his shirt, and jumped into the pool. His stroke was as smooth as ever as he ticked off thirty laps. He could have swum longer, but he stopped. No sense overdoing it, he told himself. You’ll feel it tomorrow morning.

After his swim, he took stock of himself in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom. He hadn’t gained much weight during the layoff, mainly because he’d stopped eating at the same time he stopped working out. I just need to tone up: three miles for two weeks, and then I’ll up it to five. Half a mile every day in the pool. I’ll be in shape in no time. Just then he thought of Charlie and the conversation they’d had the day before. Tomorrow I’m going out on the river.

He showered and dressed and headed to the Pelican for breakfast. It was a walk of a mile or so-nothing in Bass Creek was too far-and was one of the few pleasures he had these days. Bass Creek was an old town and many of the homes were run-down, but there was a depth to it, a sense of history. Its essential character hadn’t changed in over a hundred years.

The Pelican was a classic diner, an old railroad car complete with aluminum facade and neon sign. Tony and Han nah, a Polish couple from Chicago, had bought the place a couple of years before. Time had eroded the shine on the outside, but Tony polished the facade regularly and made the old place as appealing as possible to the casual passerby. There was a long counter facing the front door as you walked in and booths to either side. Hannah kept the interior spotless, although the plastic covering the cushioned booths was held together here and there with duct tape.

Throughout the downtime of the past year, the diner had always been a wonderful little respite for Jack. It was where his Uncle Bill hung out.

It hadn’t taken Uncle Bill long to find a friend after he moved from St. Petersburg. He met Eddie the same day he moved to town. Eddie was seventy-eight, a retired Army supply sergeant who never forgot his calling. His pockets were always full of watches and pens, assorted jewelry, old coins-you name it-that he had traded for or secured in some other way unknown to the average man.

Eddie and Bill were like the odd couple: always together and always arguing about something or other. Jack got a kick out of listening to them. Jack would usually sit at the counter and talk with Hannah. On this particular morning, Eddie and Uncle Bill were sitting at the booth behind him, carping at each other.

“I had three wives,” Eddie was telling Bill, “and none of them could cook.”

“I had five,” Bill countered, his deep voice sounding like Moses addressing the Israelites.

Eddie ignored him. “I did all the cooking,”

“I had a wife in San Diego,” Bill mused. “One day I told her I was going out to get a paper. Never did go back.”

“People pay good money for this type of entertainment,” Jack told Hannah at the counter.

“Yeah, well, if somebody pays us good money, they can have the place and the entertainment,” Hannah replied.

“I was good to my wives,” Eddie went on back at the booth.

“Didn’t do you any good,” Bill offered. “They still left you.”

The two old men were certainly amusing, especially for Hannah, who was obliged to be there. Jack was a different story. Why, Hannah wondered, is a vibrant, talented man like Jack spending so much time at our place?

Jack rose before dawn and threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. For some reason he grabbed the Yankees baseball cap hanging on the bedpost and put it on. He always wore a hat when he was out on the water, but not this hat. This hat was Pat’s. She had been a Yankee fan her whole life, back to the Mickey Mantle days. She and Jack had often kidded each other as to who was the bigger Yankee fan. Jack, like so many boys his age, idolized the Mick. He just couldn’t believe that Pat, a girl, could possibly have the same affinity.

He set out on the river in the dinghy, maneuvering through the already brisk traffic heading to the lake until he came to his turn. He hesitated for a moment before steering the little boat under the brush and into the cove where he and Pat had spent so much time. He hadn’t been there since he’d spread her ashes over the water almost a year before. He didn’t know why exactly. They had always gone together. Maybe he wanted to keep it that way. He wasn’t sure.

Nor did he know what he was doing there that morning. He parked the boat in the middle of the inlet and waited for the sunrise.

As the crickets ceased their symphony and the silence set in, a brisk wind began to pick up. Jack could tell a storm was coming fast. In an instant, the normally placid lagoon was ruffled by the rush of heavy winds as thick black clouds raced across the sky. This was not the place to be in a small boat. Jack moved to start the engine. As he did, a gust of wind blew his cap off-Pat’s cap. He saw it drifting in the distance. Going after it at this point would be dangerous; visibility was starting to fade, and the wind was whipping the water. Still, he had no choice. Just then an osprey swept down and scooped it up in its talons. Jack’s heart sank, but as the osprey flew over the small boat it let go of the cap. It floated down and landed in the water right next to the boat. Jack simply leaned over and picked it up. When he had it in his grasp, he looked up and saw the osprey hovering high above. Then it disappeared into the darkness.